it’s dead

it’s dead

they came in screaming

tears falling down their cheeks

what’s dead i asked

sure i didn’t care

but feigning interest is polite

they slobbered onto one another’s shoulders

weeping like howling tempests

creativity

they shout

it’s dead

i sat back

tapped out a cigarette from the crinkled pack and lit it

contemplating their words as smoke twirled into the air in front of me

considering a response

what do we do

without creativity we’re nothing

you’re just realizing it’s dead

just now

what have you been doing the last couple decades but regurgitating someone else’s livelihood

you dumb bastards

you didn’t honestly think you suckled at creativity’s tit

that she only spoke to you

that it was all to live and die by your tragic pen

fools

you’re all fools

hell

the first dictionary took your souls away

every word you’ve ever written was there before you

it’s been dead and you’ve been fondling it’s corpse

but what do we do now

the same thing you’ve been doing

find your muse

slap her on the ass and let go of your notions of purity

plagarize the greats

spit in the eye of whatever trends are hip

what are you going to do

same thing i always do

write shit

you don’t have to be creative

just honest

if you can rip pieces of yourself out and let them drip down the pages

it might not be original

but it is damned convincing